


Things Have Changed For Me

by kuragin



Category: Panic! at the Disco
Genre: M/M, Post-Split, changed the publication date to the day originally posted on wattpad if anyone's confused, did i mention i was 13 when i wrote this, it hasn't been five years anymore, it was originally on wattpad if that tells you anything lma o, sarah & dallon are literally only mentioned im sorry, unrealistic depictions of drinking and also of adult life, written pre-us learning things about how often everyone sees each other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-17
Updated: 2014-10-29
Packaged: 2018-06-03 04:41:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 4,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6597103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kuragin/pseuds/kuragin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been five years.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: Somewhere in Vegas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm Trash!

Somewhere in Vegas, there was an all-too-quiet house.

On this particular night, its lone inhabitant, though often away (sometimes for months at a time) was sitting (if you could even call it that) all-too-quietly on the couch in his master bedroom. His left arm was hanging over one of the armrests, letting a near-empty bottle of vodka dangle loosely between his fingers.

He hadn't always lived there. Where did he live before? He didn't remember. He did, however, remember being shoved out the front door of a house— _his_ house, he thought, feeling his grip on the bottle tighten slightly. He had paid for that house, given her everything she had ever asked for, and she had kicked him out.

He laughed, swinging the vodka in a practiced arc to meet his mouth. Served him right, he figured. She was never good enough for him, and she knew it. Oh, sure, he had loved her, but she was always a distraction.

A distraction that he wanted more than anything not to need.

The man pulled out his phone and began scrolling through his contacts. He stopped once he reached the letter S, groaning and throwing his phone across the room. He was so, so _stupid_ when he was sober. He supposed he must have had a good reason to delete the number, but that wasn't going to help him now.

He ran his hands through his hair, curling his fingers to give himself a secure grip. _Goddamn it, Urie, think. Rememberememberememberremember..._ His head snapped up and he stumbled across the room to retrieve his phone from its spot against the wall. He pulled up the keypad, fumbling to keep a grip as he started to punch in the numbers. His aim was off and he couldn't quite tell the difference between the 3 and the 5, but his eyes, although glazed over, were filled with determination, and after several attempts, he finally managed to get the whole thing in his phone. He jabbed at the call button, brought the phone to his ear, and slumped ungracefully down the wall.

He waited.

And waited.

And waited.

And then, finally, a voice, worn out from sleep:

"Brendon?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have all of the written chapters formatted and saved as drafts until chapter 6 (technically chapter 7) so !!! enjoy this (i know i sure don't). maybe i'll finish it? who knows ! if anyone likes it i might.


	2. Chapter 1: Ryan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ryan gets a phone call and screams a bit. I relate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> why did 13-year-old me write this fic in the first person and also not try to hide how little she knew about ryan ross/punctuation?? that was not a good idea

_Don't pick up, don't pick up, I swear to God, Ross, if you pick up..._

I groaned, swinging my arm over to my bedside table. I brought down my hand randomly until finally coming in contact with my phone, then brought it up to my ear.

"Brendon?" I mumbled, running my hand down my face. "What the fuck, man? It's one in the goddamn morn..." I trailed off, realizing what had just happened.

For the first time in five years—God, had it really been that long?—Brendon had called me.

I was talking to Brendon Urie.

Brendon Urie, I realized, was talking to me.

"Heyyyyyyyy, Ryro!" he slurred.

I gritted my teeth, running my free hand through my hair. "You're drunk."

"Noooooooo..." he giggled. Fuck, he _giggled_. This wasn't fair. _He_ wasn't fair.

" _Brendon_."

"Okay, I maybe had a tiiiiiny bit of vodka."

I sighed. "What do you want? You have a show tomorrow." Not like I was keeping track.

"I miss you."

I froze. _He's drunk, Ryan. He's really, really drunk, and he is very glad that you're gone. Don't you dare get any hope out of this._

"Ryan? Are you there?"

"Y-yeah, I— what?"

"You left us, Ross." he said, his voice growing louder until he was practically screaming. "You left _me_! Why?"

I couldn't make a sound. I listened as Brendon's breathing grew heavier, then slowed.

_Okay, Ryan. Calm down. Count to ten. Shit, is he crying? No. Brendon is not crying. Brendon wouldn't be crying. One. Two. Three. Four—_

"I loved you, Ryan."

_He's drunk Ryan he's drunk he's drunk he's drunk he's drunk_

"Hell, I never really stopped. I thought I could, you know, with Sarah, but..."

_HE'S DRUNK HE'S DRUNK HE'S DRUNK DON'T YOU DARE START CRYING HE'LL HEAR YOU YOU IDIOT HE DOESN'T REALLY LOVE YOU HE'S JUST DRUNK_

"...I guess I was wrong."

_nonononononononononono_

"Ryan?"

_HE'S DRUNK_

"YOU'RE DRUNK!" I yelled, throwing my phone at my dresser.

Oh, God, what did I do?

Why did I pick up?

Why did he say—no. There wasn't a reason. He was drunk.

That, sadly, failed to change my current situation. I brought my knees up to my chest, rocking back and forth as the sobs racked through my body. Five years. After five years with not even a single word, he calls me and does _this_?

I had had enough.

I swung my legs around to the side of the bed and stood up, looking around for something, _anything_ breakable.

Lamp.

Good.

I pulled it hard enough to yank its cord from the wall.

I smashed it against the dresser again and again, punctuating each blow with a yell.

"FUCK YOU, BRENDON!"

Crash.

"FUCK YOU AND YOUR STUPID FUCKING LAUGH!"

Crash.

"AND YOUR STUPID FUCKING EYES!"

Crash.

"AND YOUR STUPID!"

Crash.

"FUCKING!"

Crash.

"VOICE!"

Bang.

I looked down, my breathing heavy, to see that I had worn the lamp down to its metal core.

My hands shook. I let it fall.

I had to get out of there.

I grabbed a jacket, throwing it over my shoulders, and headed out to my car. I knew exactly where I was going. I mean, sure, it had been a while, but I still had the way memorized by heart.

Between my shaking and the tears blurring my vision, the drive took me two hours.

I didn't really notice the time.

I parked the car, took the house's porch steps in twos, and pounded on the door, breathing heavily.

After a few seconds, the door opened to reveal a very tired-looking man. On any other occasion, I would have laughed.

"What the hell do you—Ryan?"

"Hey, Spencer."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i still haven't read throam


	3. Chapter 2: Ryan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ryan screams and cries a little bit. Relatable as ever

"Hey, Spencer." Despite myself, I managed a halfhearted smile.

"Dude," he said, looking me up and down, "you look like _shit_."

I knew he was probably right. I mean, it's pretty hard _not_ to look like shit when shaking outside in nothing but your boxers and a sweater.

Not to mention the tears that were still streaming down my face.

"Um, yeah..." I said, "Sorry about that. And sorry about, um... this." I tried my best to manage an all-encompassing gesture. "It being 3 AM and all."

"No, no, it's... it's fine. Come on in, it's freezing."

I followed him inside and upstairs. He gestured to a couch. "Sit. Do you want some coffee?" I nodded and sat down, hugging a pillow to my chest as I watched him walk over to the kitchen. After a while, he returned holding two mugs.

"Thanks for the coffee," I said, accepting one of them. "And also for not, you know, kicking me out."

Spencer looked up at me. I could tell that he was worried. "Ryan, what happened to you?"

I sighed, running my hands up my face and through my hair. "Brendon called."

He nodded slowly, sitting back against the corner of the couch. "What did he say?"

"He—it doesn't matter. He was drunk. Really, really drunk." I was more trying to convince myself than anyone else, but I wasn't about to tell him that.

"That might make it matter even more," said Spencer.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Well, I mean, when you get drunk, you start being more truthful, right? Like... really truthful. Way more than anyone ever wants to see."

Fuck. I was getting hopeful again.

"He, um..." I began, looking down into my coffee, "He told me that he missed me. A-and then he was yelling— _screaming_ at me that I had abandoned him." I set the mug down on the table, not sure my shaking hands could hold it for much longer. "He—fuck." I looked up at Spencer. "He said he _loved_ me, Spence."

Spencer sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Is that all?"

I stood up, tossing the pillow aside. " _Is that all_? What the fuck, is that not _enough_ for you? It seemed pretty _huge_ to me, especially after five years with not so much as a _word_!"

"That's not—woah, wait, sit down!—that's not what I meant."

"Well, then, what _did_ you mean?" I crossed my arms and refused.

"Sit _down_ , Ryan."

"Fine." I did so with a huff, then looked down at my lap.

"I'm just... I can't say I'm that surprised."

 _What?_ "What?" My head snapped up.

"Well, I mean, it was always pretty obvious, you know, that you two—I mean, obviously you, you told me, but with Brendon, too—" I winced at the name, "but, um, that you guys lo— _cared about_ each other more than you might think."

Spencer was wringing his hands and bouncing his legs. It would've been nice to think that he was right— _No, stop—_ but he wasn't. He couldn't be.

After a long pause, I finally spoke. "He held the door for me."

"What?" Spencer looked confused.

"After I told him Jon and I were leaving, he... he didn't _say_ anything. He just got up, opened the door, and gestured for me to leave, then slammed it behind me as soon as I was out far enough." I looked him in the eyes. "He didn't care that I was leaving—don't look at me like that, it's true—and he doesn't care now, either."

"Ryan, I don't think-"

"No, stop. Its not worth it. Please," I added, seeing him open his mouth to object, "I... I have to go. Thanks for the coffee." I stood up and walked out the front door.

"Ryan! Ryan, wait!" I turned to see Spencer poking his head out of the door. "Ryan, come back! You shouldn't be driving."

I spun around and kept walking. "I think I can manage!" I called back to him. I climbed into my car, started the engine, and sped off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a summary of this fic: — — — — — — — — — — — —


	4. Chapter 3: Brendon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I- Well. Um. Fuck... Fuck. I... Fuck." -Brendon Urie

I was tired.

I probably should've been much closer to exhausted, but my throbbing migraine was forcing me to be far more awake than I wanted to be.

After laying perfectly still against the wall of my (thankfully) dark living room for about five minutes, I realized that the pounding in my head wasn't going to go away on its own. And, since my wife had fucking kicked me out, leaving me with nobody to get me aspirin, I was going to have to move.

But, _damn_ , the bathroom was far. Who the fuck even designed my house? I sighed, leaned back, and tried to slide up the wall.

Hitting the floor didn't exactly help my head.

After my third attempt, I ended up sliding all the way down the wall until my head was on the floor (fucking ouch). I turned my head to the side, ready to resign myself to my painful, aspirin-less fate, only to come face to face to my phone.

 _Why is my phone over here?_ I tried doing the math in my head, _Okay, Brendon. You were drunk. You passed out. You woke up with your phone next to you. That means you probably called someone. With your luck, it was probably Sarah. Again. Fuck, she probably hates you now—oh, wait. That happened a long time ago. Sucks to be you!_

 _Oh. Right. Shit. I_ am _you._

I groaned. I was so, so _stupid_ when I was drunk. I somehow managed to unlock my phone with my eyes shut, then quickly opened them, pulling up my recent calls.

I closed my eyes again, trying to avoid the light at all costs.

 _That's weird_.

The number wasn't in my contacts, but I sure recognized it. I mean, what else could it have been? I never bothered to memorize anyone else's num-

_"AM I THE ONLY ONE I KNOW..."_

I would be lying if I said I didn't let out the girliest fucking shriek.

Dammit, Spencer.

_"WAGING MY WARS BEHIND MY FACE AND ABOVE MY THROAT?"_

I mean, as ringtones go, it could've been worse for my situation, but the noise still fucking hurt.

I reached over and picked up my phone from where I had dropped it, squeezing my eyes shut to block out the backlight. I jabbed my thumb in the general area where the call button was, then brought the phone up to my ear.

"Spencer, I swear to-"

"What the _fuck_ did you do?"

I winced at the noise. Jeez, what was _wrong_ with him? "God, look, I know I probably-"

"Don't give me that shit, Urie. Do you know who just showed up at my door in boxers and a sweater?"

" _Spencer_!" _OW OW OW OW FUCK SHIT DONT YELL YELLING IS BAD OW_ "Can you _please_ just quiet the fuck down?"

Spencer was quiet for a second. "How much did you have last night?"

"I..." I glanced over at the empty bottle next to the couch. "I'm not sure. At least half the bottle."

"Of what?"

"Vodka."

I could hear him cursing under his breath. "Do you... remember anything?"

"No, I... I don't know. But I, um, I looked at my recent calls."

"How many people?"

"Just him. Just-" God, I couldn't even say his name. Pathetic. "No, no one else."

"Well, I hope you're damn pleased with what you've done."

"What do you mean?"

"You sort of, um... broke him."

 _Oh, no. Shit. Shit shit shit shit_ "What, um... what did I say, exactly?"

"Well, according to Ryan, you may or may not have, um," he cleared his throat, "confessed your undying love to him?"

 _sHitshI T_ "I- Well. Um. Fuck... Fuck. I... Fuck." I tried to stand up, half-crawled on my shaking legs over to the couch, and slumped down as my lovely chorus of fucks, shits, and damns slowly reached a shout. It made my head feel like it was about to explode, but even that was better than the overwhelming feeling of _I fucked up I fucked up bad_ that was twisting around in in my gut.

"Or... you know, um, something along those lines, 'cause, you know, he was, um, kind of tired, and I, oh, God, please calm down, I'm sure he's fine, I-"

" _Spencer!_ "

"Yeah, okay, I, um, yeah, I mean, he seemed pretty sure, but-"

"Great. Thanks, Spence." I hung up the phone and tossed it on the couch next to me.

" _Ryan Ross..._ " I whispered, running a shaking hand through my hair. It felt strange to say his name again. I had always tried to never refer to him by name; with Sarah, 'him' usually sufficed, and Spencer knew better than to mention him or Jon in front of me. The interviewers had had their fun with the split, and with Dallon, he just never came up. He had been erased from our lives, and we had all been okay.

We were all still okay... weren't we?

_No, not okay. Very, very far from okay._

I put my throbbing head in my hands, and, for the first time in five years, let myself cry about Ryan Ross.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'd put something original here but i think 13-year-old me can do the talking this time around:
> 
> "(A/N: Thank you guys so much for reading this! In case you were wondering, Brendon's ringtone for Spencer in this chapter was "Migraine" by Twenty One Pilots (because he had a headache oh god I'm sorry i think I'm funny but I'm really really not). Have a great day! ~Sienna)"
> 
> where do i even start


	5. Chapter 4: Brendon

_When did I fall asleep?_

_I mean, I must have at some point. If I hadn't, I wouldn't be waking up._

_...Was I crying?_

_Oh. Right. Ryan._

_Fuck._

I groaned, sitting up on my couch. I picked up my phone and checked the time. 4:30 PM. Shit. I had to be at the venue in an hour. I stood up and walked over to the bathroom, noticing that, if nothing else, my migraine was gone. I managed to smooth down my hair a bit, but it was never manageable anyway. I sighed, then headed up to my bedroom to throw on some jeans and a t-shirt. I looked at my phone. 4:40. The venue was only fifteen minutes away, so I had some time to kill, which was the last thing I needed.

I ended up sitting pressed against the armrest of my couch, staring at my phone on the other end.

_Should I call him?_

_I mean, I should probably clear everything up, right? Or at least make sure that he's okay._

_Shut up, Brendon. He's probably fine. He never needed you. Not like you needed him._

_Yeah, but... what if he's not?_

I drummed my fingers against the couch and bit my lip, looking sideways at my phone.

_Oh, fuck it. Why not?_

I picked up my phone, punched in Ryan's number, and hit send before I could stop myself.

I counted the rings.

_One._

_Two._

_Three._

_Four._

_Five._

_Maybe I should hang up. Maybe he doesn't want to talk to me. Maybe he-_

"Hello?"

 _Fuck, this was a bad idea._ "Um... Hey, Ryan."

There was a pause on the other line. "Are you drunk?"

 _God fucking damn it Ryan I don't need this I don't need to be getting choked up just from hearing your voice I don't need you..._ "Not this time, no."

"Then why are you calling me?"

_I missed you._

"...You _what_?"

 _Fuck. I said that out loud, didn't I?_ "I... never mind. Just. I'm sorry. About last night. And... and everything else. Fuck, I'm so sorry."

"Fuck, Brendon, what do you _want_ from me?"

"What?"

"You have to want _something_ , right? Otherwise, you wouldn't be calling me."

"Ryan, no, that's not-"

"Just, God, Bren, shut up for a second. I don't want to hear you talk about this. I don't want to just sit here and listen to you talk about how _sorry_ you are when you're obviously not. And you can just sit around in your nice little house, a-and _pretend_ that you don't hate me all you want, but it doesn't change-  _fuck_ , I'm sorry."

_He's crying._

_Fuck, he's crying, and he hates me, and it's all my fault._

"Ryan? Ryan, just listen to me, okay? You don't have to believe me, but I promise you it's all true. I'm sorry, more sorry than I've ever been. I've been ignoring you. I practically-  _literally_ pushed you out of my life, and it's the worst thing that I've ever done. I've spent the past five years doing nothing but regretting it, and I'm fucking _done._ You deserve so much better than me; always have, always will, and it's okay if you want to hate me, because you have every reason to, but if you never want to talk to me again, I just need you to know that it wasn't your fault. And, fuck, no, I don't hate you. I couldn't even if I wanted to. I just- I was scared, and I miss you, and I'm sorry."

I waited for him to say something _anything_ , but he didn't.

I had never been more terrified.

_Count the seconds._

_One._

_Two._

_Three._

_Four._

"Brendon?"

"Y-Yeah?"

"Do you, um... do you want to, I don't know, get coffee or something?

"Yeah," I smiled, "Yeah, that would be nice."


	6. Chapter 5: Ryan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brendon is confusing. Ryan is confused. Love my relatable kids

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Old person voice* when I was your age, we didn't even HAVE Periscope, and

Five hours.

I had five hours, twenty six minutes, and thirty five seconds until I was meeting Brendon.

And at _Starbucks_ , of all places.

It wasn't like I was sitting around, playing out all the different possible scenarios in my head. I might've been pathetic, but not _that_ pathetic.

Okay, maybe I was, but that's beside the point.

The truth was, the only thing keeping me from acting like a teenage girl was that I already _knew_ what was going to happen.

And that terrified me.

I knew that I was going to arrive at Starbucks to find that Brendon had been waiting there for twenty minutes "just to make sure." I knew that I was going to have the thought that, hey, maybe that meant he actually cared about me. I knew that we were going to talk about everything that we didn't have to talk about, and I knew that in the end, he was going to apologize. He was going to tell me that he was sorry if he caused any confusion, but that he really didn't need me, and "here's my number, let's be friends?"

I knew that after five years, I was too late, and that I would have to spend the rest of my life with him in the back of my mind, no matter what.

_Fuck, I can't do this._

_If I call him now, he'll still be on stage, right? So it'll go to voicemail, and he can't talk me out of it, and I'll never have to hear his voice again._

_Except on the radio._

_But I can just change the channel, right?_

_Yeah. So. I'll be fine._

I pulled out my phone, pulled up Brendon's contact, and hit call.

It rung once, then went to static.

_That's weird._

_Wait, no._

_Not static._

_Cheering._

_Oh my God._

"Sorry everyone, but this is important. Hold on!"

"B-Brendon?" _Fuck. He picked up. He actually fucking picked up._

"Hey, Ryan. What's up?"

"You picked up the phone."

"Yeah, I know—Dallon, what the fuck? Tell them I'm talking to Ryan."

"You are at a fucking _concert_ , and you picked up the phone."

"We were between songs! Besides, they don't seem to mind, now that they know it's you."

"Why the _fuck_ -"

"Look, I know you're very busy being my mother, but I know you wouldn't call me unless you had a good reason, and Dallon can only think up so much material to distract the audience before he resorts to stripping—don't look at me like that, I was going to say stripping _me—_ so I would start talking."

"I-nothing. Are we still on for tonight?"

"Um, yeah. Is that all?"

"Well, n-yeah. That's all. Sorry. I was going to leave a message."

He laughed. "Okay then. See you in—hold on—five hours, nineteen minutes, and ten seconds!"

"Yeah. Bye." I hung up, running my fingers through my hair. Damn that man.


	7. Chapter 6: Ryan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ryan sure does a lot of things here

_Tap._

_Tap._

_Tap._

I was sitting at a table.

That was all I was doing.

Just sitting.

Of course, I was breathing as well, and every so often I blinked, and if you were really attentive you could see that I was counting the drops of water that leaked from the sink on the other side of the Starbucks, but essentially, I was sitting.

I wasn't thinking. Thinking was dangerous. If I had been thinking, I would've realized that I was waiting.

So, for all intents and purposes, I was _definitely not_ waiting for Brendon Urie to walk through the doors that were only ten feet away from me.

I mean, what were the chances of _that_ happening?

_Probably around 80 percent, considering that there's a large chance of him not caring. Why did I expect him to, anyway? After all, he's Brendon Urie. He has everything he could ever ask for. He doesn't need-_

"Hey."

I jumped, feeling my neck crack as my head snapped up.

_Shit._

_Now I remember why I avoided seeing him in person._

"I, um... hi."

"Hi."

"Hi."

Brendon smirked, putting two cups of coffee on the table. "How've you been?"

 _Oh, no. No. No fucking way. I am not going to let this happen. Not after five years. Who does he think h-_ "Oh, you know. Fine." _Dammit._ "How, um," I wrung my hands under the table. "How about you?"

"Oh, just _perfect_." He said, taking a sip of his coffee. "I mean, I was doing absolutely _wonderful_ to start with, but I think what really did it was getting kicked out of my own house."

"Serves you right," I muttered, looking down at the table.

"What?"

"Oh, I just- nothing."

"Look, Ryan, if you want me to leave, I-"

" _No!_ " I shouted, then cleared my throat, checking to make sure nobody had noticed. "No, you- you're fine."

_Tap._

_Tap._

_Tap._

_Tap._

"I don't remember calling you."

"I know."

_Tap._

_Tap._

"Spencer did, um, tell me what I said, though."

 _Dammit, Spencer._ "Look, it's fine. I know you didn't-"

"I'm sorry, it's not fair to-" he stopped himself. "Didn't what?"

"What?"

"You know I didn't _what_ , Ryan?"

"I know you didn't mean it."

_Tap._

_Tap._

_Tap._

"I mean, it's fine with-"

"What makes you think that?"

"What, that you didn't mean it? Where do I fucking _start_?"

Brendon looked at his hands, opening and closing his mouth. Finally, he looked up. "It isn't technically _wrong,_ " he said, "I'm just sorry you had to find out."

_Tap._

_Tap._

_Tap._

_Tap._

"Brendon?"

"Yeah?"

"I missed you, too."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter marks the end of 13-year-old me's hold on this fic. will i continue it? idk your choice?? comment if you're into it. i promise i've gotten better at writing since then


End file.
